by Marian Keyes
Jojo’s Birthday Weekend
Friday 3.30 p.m.: Skive off work early. Proceed separately to Brook Street and check into Claridges hotel.
‘Claridges! I’ve always wanted to stay at Claridges!’ It figured large in her fantasy, Agatha Christie-style Britain – cream teas and snooty butlers and ‘gels’ up from the country for the day, taking tea with their eccentric great-aunts, the kind of women who wore the family jewels to do the gardening.
‘I know,’ he said.
She was so touched that for a moment she half-considered crying, then couldn’t be bothered.
Friday 4.00 p.m.: Try out the facilities of the suite
‘Suite! I love you.’
paying particular attention to the bed, then step out onto nearby Bond Street to look for Jojo’s birthday gift.
She looked up again. ‘Bond Street is way expensive.’
‘I know.’
She eyed him with admiration. ‘What a guy.’
Friday 7.00 p.m.: Drinks, then dinner in a restaurant where I had to promise to get the chef a book deal, in order to get a reservation this side of Christmas.
***
Saturday morning: Breakfast in the suite, followed by a swim in the hotel pool, then return to Bond Street to continue the search for Jojo’s gift.
Afternoon at leisure: Perhaps measuring the bounce of the bed.
Saturday 7.00 p.m.: Cocktails, then dinner in a different but still insanely difficult-to-get-into restaurant.
***
Sunday morning: Breakfast in the suite, another swim and a final test of the bedsprings.
12 Noon: Check out and home.
It had been the perfect weekend. When they’d arrived, flowers and champagne were waiting in the room. They’d had sex about sixty times, even in the swimming pool when they’d been the only people there – she hadn’t meant to, she thought it was kind of tacky, but at the time he’d worked her up into such a state she was beyond caring.
Patiently he went from shop to shop with her, admired pocketbook after pocketbook, even though she knew they seemed identical to him and paid attention as she pointed out how the stitching was white on one and black on the other and what a difference it made. The only sign that he was cracking slightly was when she couldn’t decide between the Prada tote with the shoulder-strap or the identical Prada tote with the slightly shorter hand-straps and he said he’d buy her both.
‘Oh, I get it,’ she laughed. ‘You’re worried about the furniture in the suite. We should go back and check it again.’
They had afternoon tea in the Garden Room, they drank the champagne with their room-service lunch on Saturday afternoon and the only hiccup in the two days was when he’d steered her towards the rings in Tiffany.
‘Maybe you should pick one,’ he said.
‘Don’t be a dumbass,’ she said, suddenly angry at him. The last thing she wanted during this precious time was to be reminded that he was married.
That night in the restaurant, as they looked at their menus he took her hand. She twisted it out of his grasp but again he went for it.
‘Mark,’ she frowned. ‘Anyone could see us.’
‘Your point?’
‘While we’re in London we have to play it safe.’
‘Playing it safe is the most dangerous thing a woman like you could do.’
She burst out laughing. ‘Moonstruck? Nicolas Cage says it to Cher? Am I right?’
Mark sighed. ‘You were meant to think I made it up. You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. You know everything.’
TO: Jojo.harvey@LIPMAN HAIGH.co
FROM: Mark.avery@LIPMAN HAIGH.co
SUBJECT: Birthday weekend
Didn’t you enjoy it?
TO: Mark.avery@LIPMAN HAIGH.co
FROM: Jojo.harvey@LIPMAN HAIGH.co
SUBJECT: Enjoy it?
Yes. Far too much. Nothing will ever be as nice ever again.
16
6.30 Friday evening, the Coach and Horses
Lots of people showed up for the celebratory drink – after all, the company was paying. Richie Gant was sharking around, trying to get a piece of the action, but Jojo and Jim were the focus, seated together like a king and queen, drinking vodkatinis.
‘See, it’s not so bad,’ Jim said. ‘I remember when we could always count on you on Friday nights.’
‘You’re right.’ She was flushed and happy. ‘I’m having the best time. Could be something to do with all this alcohol, but who’s complaining? So, how are things with you, Jim? How’s Amanda?’
‘Jojo, you are so out of touch. Amanda dumped me weeks ago.’
‘She did? I’m sorry. Do you have a new girl?’
‘Currently auditioning. But no.’
There was a weird little pause and alerted by some sixth sense, Jojo said, ‘You didn’t ask if I have a boyfriend.’
Then there was another weird little pause and Jim said, ‘That’s because I know you have.’
Time stopped.
‘I know about Mark.’
Her stomach bumped, like she was in an elevator which had stopped unexpectedly. ‘He told you?’
‘I guessed.’
‘Then he told you? When?’
‘Today.’
All at once she was completely sober and very angry with Mark. This was a deal-breaker, he wasn’t the only one with lots to lose if their relationship became public. It would not play well in the partnership discussions. She thought of how close Jim and Richie Gant were and suddenly felt nauseous.
Mark should have told her! Someone knowing her secrets and her unaware that they knew – it put her so on the back foot.
‘Don’t be too hard on Mark. He needs someone to talk to.’
She couldn’t even ring Mark to yell at him. What a pisser.
‘Don’t worry,’ Jim said. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’
Jojo didn’t know if she should believe him. She didn’t know if she should trust him. She was suddenly very paranoid.
‘Gotta go.’ She gathered up her stuff, made a call and caught a cab to Becky and Andy’s.
In the taxi, her anger with Mark suddenly busted out and she thought, I’m not going to suck it up until next time I see him. So she texted, Call me.
Almost immediately he rang back.
‘What’s the deal with Jim Sweetman?’ she asked.
‘He already knew.’
‘No-he-did-not. You’re way off here, Mark. Maybe Jim thought he knew but until you tell him he doesn’t know for sure. Capisce?’
‘Jojo, he saw me outside your flat at nine-thirty last Sunday morning.’
‘He did? How?’
‘He was driving past.’
‘Why was he doing that?’
‘He lives in West Hampstead. Not so far from you. I was caught red-handed. Believe me, Jojo, try as I might, this was one situation I could not talk my way out of. I would have if I could.’
She kept it zipped. They’d taken so many risks, getting caught at some stage was inevitable. But why did it have to be by someone they worked with?
‘Jim can be trusted,’ Mark said.
‘I sure hope so.’ She could still hang him up for something. ‘So why didn’t you tell me he knew?’
‘I did.’ He sounded confused. ‘I emailed you. As soon as he’d left my office.’
‘What time?’
‘Four, four-thirty?’
She hadn’t checked her emails. In celebratory, Friday mode she’d decided not to bother and had gone straight to the pub. Not like her. A mistake.
‘OK.’ Mark was clean. He hadn’t done anything wrong. ‘You’re off the hook.’
‘Welll! I thought you were going to read me my Miranda rights and allow me my one phone call.’
‘Rights? Phone call?’ She managed a laugh. ‘You’d be lucky.’
‘I’m so sorry I can’t see you this weekend.’
‘It’s OK. Mazie Wyatt of the fabulous Wyatt sisters is having her thirtieth-birth
day party tomorrow night. It’s fancy dress. That’ll keep me entertained.’
‘Remind me again, which one do you have the crush on?’
‘Magda. But –’
‘– not in a sexual way,’ they chanted together.
‘Thanks for letting me know,’ Mark said, suddenly very serious.
Huh?
‘She’s a great author and we’ll be sorry to lose her.’
Cassie must have come into the room.
‘See you on Monday.’
She filled Becky and Andy in on what had happened.
‘Once the people in work start finding out, soon everyone’s going to know,’ she said.
‘But it’s not like you’re not taking risks anyway,’ Andy said. ‘You want to be caught. Why not just do the decent thing and tell his wife before someone does it for you?’
Jojo took a deep breath. ‘I’ll tell you why. Because it’s the shittiest thing in the world to think about breaking up a marriage. Not just the wife but the pain of his children. How’re they going to get over it?’
‘I dunno,’ Andy said, ‘but this sort of thing happens all the time. Well, a lot.’
‘This is so not me. It’s like starting a war. I can’t believe I’m even, like, con templating it. How come other people have it so easy? They hate the wife, they say it’s her fault for gaining weight or never giving the guy blow jobs. How come it’s not like that for me? How come I’m ashamed of myself?’
‘So dump him.’ Andy was getting bored. He couldn’t help it, he was a man.
‘I’m not that ashamed. Which makes me even more ashamed.’
‘This is all a little post-modern for me.’
‘If – when – if – Mark and I go public on this, it’s not going to be a rosy fade-out. No matter how it happens, it’ll be ugly. Fact.’
‘But is it going to happen? Yes or no?’ Without giving her a chance to answer, Andy continued, ‘I’m disappointed in you, Jojo. Most women, they do nothing but talk about things. They talk, talk, talk and never do. Look at poor Becky with her job. Sorry, love,’ he said in an aside to Becky. ‘I know you can’t help it. But I’d expected better from you, Jojo. Tell me I’ve not been wrong. Tell me you’re going to put your money where your mouth is. I need something to believe in.’
‘City have just sacked their manager,’ Becky explained.
‘OK,’ Jojo swallowed. ‘It’s going to happen, it’s just a question of when. But when I think of myself at Sam’s age…’ She paused, then went on, her voice wobbling, ‘When I think of Sophie and Sam being without their dad…’
Tears overwhelmed her and she sobbed silently into her chest while Becky and Andy made ‘Yikes’ faces at each other. Jojo wasn’t supposed to cry.
That night in bed, she faced it. She was waiting for a time when the pain of not being with Mark was greater than the pain of breaking up his marriage and leaving his children fatherless. And it hadn’t come yet.
She loved Mark but she held back a bit. She’d never – other than jokingly – told him that she loved him and more than once he’d said, ‘You’re holding out on me, Jojo.’
Thing was, she didn’t want her feelings to overwhelm her to the point where she would do something that conflicted so violently with her moral code.
But Andy was right. She and Mark were taking more risks. Like, looking to be caught, for the decision to be taken for them, no?
And what would their life together be like? Where would they live? Would she have to sell her apartment? Yes, and that was OK. She’d have to join a gym, though, the stairs kept her fit. Sorta. They might have to buy a house in the suburbs.
But it didn’t frighten her any more. I’m ready for this, she realized. Almost. She and Mark could travel into work together, sleep together every night, wake up together every single morning and all the sneaking around could stop.
And no, she didn’t think the thrill of Mark would disappear. People often said that affairs were all about frantic sex and would never survive the transition from snatched meetings to dull domesticity, but when she and Mark were alone, they were dull as fuck. Apart from the sex, which was still compelling, they did quiet little things. She cooked him dinner, they read magazines, they did cryptic crosswords, they discussed work. All they needed were the carpet slippers. ‘Mark, look at us,’ she’d exclaimed, the previous Sunday. ‘We’re like an old married couple.’
‘That can be arranged.’
‘Don’t!’
She sighed into the darkness. She was going to cause pain to others and shame herself and she was just going to have to tough it out. Lucky she was good at doing stuff she didn’t want to, but just because she was good at it, didn’t mean she had to like it.
17
Saturday night, the Wyatt family home
Magda opened the heavy wooden front door and yelled at the top of her voice, ‘JOJO HARVEY, you gorgeous, GORGEOUS woman. Mazie! Marina! Jojo’s here!’
A flurry of blondes gathered around Jojo in her ancient black leggings, fraying red horns and red velcroed tail and showered her with love. Even Mrs Wyatt, ‘Magnolia, please,’ – who could have passed for another sister – joined in. ‘You are SEX on LEGS!’
‘What a clever idea, coming as a devil,’ Magda said.
Which just goes to show, Jojo thought, that some people deserve to be rich and beautiful. The Wyatt costumes had been hired – or worse yet, probably specially made – and still they raved over her cruddy horns and tail like they were the greatest things they’d ever seen.
Mazie in a white halter-dress was Marilyn Monroe, Marina with several stuffed robins attached to her ice-blue Chanel suit was Tippi Hedren in The Birds and Magda was tall and glorious as a Lord of the Rings elf-queen. ‘Jojo, it’s terribly funny, I’ve never liked my ears. They’re so flat and pointy that I wanted to have surgery, but now I’m glad I didn’t.’
Magnolia agreed. ‘I’ve always said that if you hold on to something for long enough it comes back into fashion.’
Well-behaved little girls, the offspring of Magda’s brother Mikhail, fluttered about. One relieved Jojo of her coat, another took the gift and solemnly told Jojo she’d put it in ‘the present room’ and one more presented Jojo with a champagne cocktail.
The party was as slick as if a professional had organized it, but Magda had done it all by herself and had thought of everything: a dimly lit chill space; a dining area with buffet table and squashy sofas; and a big room with a sound system and bar, ‘the misbehaving room’. Trays of drinks appeared under your nose the nano-second you were over halfway through the one in your hand, you happened upon a chair at the exact moment you decided you wanted to sit down and handsome men gave you admiring glances just when you were curling up with self-consciousness at being the only person there in a home-made costume. Everyone had rented proper outfits. In the first five minutes Jojo clocked a gorilla, Gandalf, the Pink Panther, a knight in armour, a damsel in distress, another Gandalf, a nun, Batman, yet another Gandalf and two Marie Antoinettes, both of them men. Even Andy showed up in a Superman costume, and Becky in black skin-tight vinyl and eye-mask was Cat-woman.
Then Jojo saw Shayna and Brandon and exhaled with relief. Shayna, stick-skinny and in a brown faux-crocodile catsuit, had come as a Twiglet and Brandon, with huge, misshapen lumps of styrofoam stuck all over him, was meant to be a piece of popcorn.
‘We have some lovely, lovely men for you, Jojo,’ Magda said. ‘First up is the man who’s come as Ali Baba. Pots of money and really the nicest chap. You couldn’t hope for nicer. There’s just one thing and you must promise not to let it put you off.’ She clasped Jojo’s hand. ‘For me, Jojo. Promise?’
Grinning, Jojo promised. She loved Magda.
‘No one explained to him how to apply fake tan for his Ali Baba look. But he’s the sweetest man and as I say, pots of money. Come and let me introduce you.’
She pulled Jojo across the room to a man in pink satin harem pants and red cummerbund. ‘Jojo, this is
Henry. I know you two are just going to love each other.’
Jojo took one look and it took every fibre of her strength not to laugh. Henry’s face, beneath his saffron turban, looked like it had been tie-dyed. The badly applied kohl didn’t help either.
Magda dervished away and Henry cleared his (tequila sunrise) throat and said, ‘I apologize for my streaky face. I was unaware of the correct application of a well-known self-tanning product and this is the result.’
‘Hey, how would you know, you’re a man.’
‘They tell me it’ll take a week to fade.’
Jojo nodded sympathetically.
Which could be rather awkward for work.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I read the news.’
Another airlock of laughter was threatening to choke her. She clenched her fists.
‘The stock market reports, not the full news. But it could still be tricky.’
Jojo wondered how she might escape, but she needn’t have worried. Magda Wyatt was several steps ahead of her and reappeared with a pink rabbit. ‘Henry, this is Athena, Hermione’s youngest sister. I know I can rely on you to take care of her, and Jojo, I’m so sorry to break up your lovely, lovely chat with Henry but I need to whisk you away.’
Once out of Henry’s earshot she murmured, ‘Was it the fake tan?’
‘No –’
‘Never mind, we have lots of other lovely men on our books. Now, who shall we say hello to next…?’
There was something about Magda: she invited confidences. ‘See, Magda, I already have a boyfriend. But he’s married.’
‘My God, how thrilling.’ But then she saw Jojo’s face. ‘Not thrilling? Come and sit down.’
Naturally they were right beside a window seat which was so perfectly sized it was as if it had been custom-built for Jojo and Magda. One of the nieces materialized out of nowhere and Magda instructed her to bring a bottle of champagne, which they drank while Jojo spilled her guts about Mark.
‘And he’s the man for you?’ Magda said, when she’d finished.
‘I don’t know. I think so but how does anyone know for sure?’
‘You know how I know if a man is for me? They have terrible shoes. Ones that I’d be embarrassed to be seen in public with. Even if they’re fine in every other department, their shoes are always dreadful. And that’s how I know.’
